


A Royal Proposal

by pixelpiano



Series: Elibe Week 2k18 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade
Genre: Don't Mind the Names, F/F, Light Angst, Marriage Proposal, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelpiano/pseuds/pixelpiano
Summary: Guinivere is worried about Melady, who has been acting strangely as of late...





	A Royal Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> For Elibe Week 2018.  
> Prompt: Tension/Relief (Originally Heart/Soul)

* * *

             “All members of the council, please rise for Her Royal Majesty Queen Guinivere I.”

             Scraping chairs echo within the stone walls as Melady and the eight other councilmembers stand and bow before Queen Guinivere.

             “You may all be seated,” her majesty says softly; even so, her voice carries all the regal authority befitting of a queen.

             Melady and the others obey, and sit in silence as they wait for the Queen to begin her business.

             “Duke Römftor, what is our status on the infrastructure project?” her majesty asks, addressing the thin, weary-looking noble to her left.

             “All is proceeding according to schedule your majesty,” Duke Römftor replies in a nasally voice, wringing his gloved hands together nervously. “The project has been met with some resistance, but the majority are in favour and are keeping things running smoothly.”

             “Excellent,” the Queen responds, smiling as her white-gold curls frame her face like the portraits adorning the royal hall. Her majesty’s red lips stand out beautifully against her pale complexion, and her voice rings like a soothing melody in the mountaintops. And her eyes—so soft and kind, but commanding nonetheless. Though her gaze could pierce, it did so with such understanding that—

             “Duchess Bern?…”

             Melady shakes her head in surprise, and her face grows hot as all eyes in the room stare at her.

             “Forgive me mil-uh, your majesty…” she stutters, bowing in embarrassment. “It shall not happen again!”

             “Such excuses are ill-befitting her majesty’s personal retainer, are they not?” one of the councilmembers asks coyly. He twirls his moustache as he raises an eyebrow at Melady.

             “Peace, Duke Grofhörb,” the Queen commands, addressing him “to question her ability is to question my decision to appoint her…”

             “Forgive me, your majesty.” Grofhörb apologizes, his eyes downcast. As soon as her majesty’s eyes are off him, however, he snarls at Melady, whose eyes are also focused elsewhere.

             Across the table, she watches one of the councilmembers lean over and whisper something to his neighbor. The two then glare in her direction until she looks back to the Queen.

             “If her majesty has no more matters for the council?” Melady asks, forcing her shivering body to be still in front of the other members.

             The Queen nods and waves her hand, sending the dukes and duchesses of the council scattering from the table, their whispers voicing attitudes of distaste and mocking.

             “Duchess Bern, if I may see you in my private chambers?” her majesty asks softly. The normal commanding tone in her voice is gone; in its place a note of concern wavers.

             Melady bows, and places her arm across her chest in salute, but shakes her head. “Forgive me, your majesty, but I beg your leave instead.

             “Melady…”

             Her heart skips a beat, and then clenches in a knot which aches throughout her chest. She barely chokes out an ‘if you’ll excuse me’ as she turns and hurries out the door, hanging her head low.

             She rushes blindly through the corridors, every ounce of her willpower devoted to maintaining her composure. She salutes halfheartedly to the guards as she passes through the entrance to the gardens, and into the tower where her chambers reside. It isn’t until she enters her room and locks the door behind her that she dares raise her head, revealing tears streaming down her cheeks.

             She crumples to the ground and sobs. She had promised herself that this wouldn’t happen again. She shouldn’t—no—she _couldn’t_ be trusted again like this…

             It didn’t matter anyhow—this wasn’t the first of the council’s whisperings that she had heard before. She didn’t come from noble blood; she is nothing but a common knight, a serf favorited by the crown. And now she’ll have gone and thrown it all away by-…by—

             No. It’s not like that. She just misses _him_ —that must be what it is. She strides over to her nightstand and pulls open the top drawer. She reaches into the back and pulls out a small locket, rubbing the engraved bronze surface with her thumb. She squeezes her eyes shut as she opens the clasp; is she afraid to look at it?

             When she finally opens her eyes, his face is staring back at her. His face is stoic, but a warmth and kindness hides behind the outer appearance. At least, she thinks it used to—all Melady sees is a stoic soldier looking off to the horizon, one lost to the painful horrors of war. Her heart doesn’t ache, her arms do not want—she thinks of the memories she shared with him before the war, before everything changed.

             But she isn’t filled with the bittersweet emotion of lost love—instead she feels empty, perhaps lonely, but not in a way that he would be able to fix were he there by her side again.

             And then her eyes fall upon the painting on her wall—the one the late King Desmond had gifted to the queen when she was younger, and which the queen had in turn gifted to Melady years later. She and the young queen sit side-by-side, grinning like innocent children. The young queen wears a red dress with white, lace ruffles, and a red, silk ribbon tying her hair back. Her eyes still look as innocent and kind now as they did that many years ago. Young Melady’s once-long red hair is in twin braids dangling over her shoulders, and she wears one of the young queen’s borrowed dresses—a plain summery-yellow dress with short sleeves that stops just above the knees. Her dress is scuffed with dirt and grass, while the young queen’s dress is as pristine as ever.

             And there’s something in the way her heart flutters when she sees the young queen’s smiling face that sets her at ease. The locket slips from her grasp and clatters to the floor, as if the universe is confirming her thoughts. She takes a deep breath, wiping at her eyes, and chuckles softly to herself.

             A knight in love with their queen was one thing, but this—this was something different altogether…

* * *

             “One more point, your majesty, if I may…”

             “You are dismissed,” Guinivere says sternly, as one of the castle guard escorts the still-negotiating Horabern ambassador from the meeting room. She sighs, and sits down, laying her elbows upon the table and rubbing her temples.

             Melady had been avoiding her summons for two days now—she had even sent a messenger for her yesterday, but he had returned empty-handed, saying she was “out at present”. The image of Melady all but fleeing from her the other day after the council meeting runs through Guinivere’s head, bringing forth another sigh. Even if it pained her, she was the queen, and the queen had a duty to her people. Nonetheless, she wished Melady would heed her concern—the two of them had been all but inseparable since childhood, but their relationship had changed ever since Guinivere had ascended the throne.

             “Your Majesty?”

             Guinivere turns, smoothing out the wrinkles in her royal robes. “Yes?”

             “I bring an invitation and a note: the former is an invitation from Duke Retom’s son, Count Retonkchwïme; the latter-…well, see for yourself.”

             The messenger hands Guinivere a piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon. He then waits awkwardly by the door.

             “If you have nothing further?…” Guinivere asks, slightly annoyed.

             “Well, your majesty…it’s just that the Count is awaiting you within the palace gardens. Truth be told, we could not turn him away.”

             “Then I suppose I shall come tell him myself,” Guinivere says. “Tell our dear guest that I shall be out momentarily.”

             “Yes, your majesty,” the messenger says, saluting and leaving at once.

             Guinivere turns back to the note in her hands, and unties its ribbon. The ribbon material is soft, like the ones she used to wear when she was young. Memories of her, Zephiel, and Melady playing together as children swim through her head, and a bittersweet feeling tugs at her from within.

             She unrolls the note and reads it over:

> _Look to the centre of the gardens.  
>  There you shall find a gift, be it fit for the Queen or not.  
>  The choice is yours to make._

             Guinivere rolls her eyes and pockets the note—a shameless proposal from the Count again no doubt. She exits the meeting room and walks through the halls towards the gardens.

             As she opens the door, she is soon greeted by the smiling face of Count Retonkchïme, his hair parted almost too neatly, and his dress robes gaudily decorated with sequins.

             “Your Majesty,” he says, bowing deeply before offering his arm to her.

             Guinivere takes a deep breath, but politely accepts. “Shall we take a walk in the gardens, then?”

             The Count smiles and gestures towards the inner garden gates. “As your majesty wishes,” he says.

             Guinivere walks awkwardly arm-in-arm with the Count down the flowered paths. She nods politely in response to his questions, but her mind wanders elsewhere. The meeting with the Horabern ambassador had gone more poorly than expected, which would cause even more delay to her attempts to establish relations with the border towns. This, in turn, would continue to fracture her plans for unifying the divided towns of Bern, which would only draw out the country’s healing process longer…

             “Your Majesty, forgive me that I may pry—why have you chosen to take me through the gardens at this time of day?”

             “You mentioned the centre of the gardens in your note. I assumed you wished to take me there…”

             “My note?”

             Guinivere takes the note from her pocket and shows it to the Count.

             “Your Majesty, forgive me again, but I was not the one who sent you this note.”

             “You speak the truth?”

             The Count nods. “Though I did bring a gift for today’s visit, your majesty, I had no part in either this note, or the gift it mentions.”

             “Then…” Guinivere pauses, reading over the note again. “Would you, perhaps, excuse me a moment, Count Retonkchïme?”

             “Of course, your majesty,” the Count replies, bowing. “Do hurry back though!…”

             Guinivere walks quickly towards the clearing at the centre of the gardens. She ducks through the archway and into the centre of the clearing where an elaborate fountain carved of Wyvern’s Tooth sits alongside benches and decorative hedge art.  

             At the fountain’s edge sits none other than Melady, who straightens stiffly as she sees the Queen approach.

             At the sight of her friend, Guinivere suddenly begins to piece things together. She hurries into the clearing, but stops in front of Melady, who hasn’t moved, and wears a nervous expression upon her face.

             “Melady, where have you been?” Guinivere asks, dropping her regal air. “It’s been days, I was so worried—”

             “Your Majesty…” Melady begins, speaking slowly, her voice shaking slightly, “permission to…to speak freely?”

             “Yes, yes, of course!” Guinivere says earnestly. “Is everything alright?!”

             Melady slowly stands before her Queen, and looks her in her eyes.

             “Milady…Guinivere, when I first swore loyalty to you it was as a Wyvern Knight of Bern. I swore I would protect the royal family until the end of my days.”

             Guinivere nods in silence, and Melady continues.

             “When the late King Zephiel began his attack on mankind itself, I swore a second oath to you—once again to stay by your side, no matter what tides the war may bring. And when the war came to an end, and I watched milady ascend the throne as Queen of Bern, I must say I was in awe. Though it has been but a short time, I have watched you take the first steps to healing this nation torn asunder by war and strife. And while you honoured me by asking me to remain at your side as your personal retainer, I felt…something else as well.”

             Melady pauses, and fishes something small from within her pockets, but it remains concealed from Guinivere’s view.

             “Today, I have decided I can no longer ignore that feeling, and so, if her majesty allows, I shall make my third and final vow to you.”

             As she finishes, Melady kneels in front of the Queen and reveals the object in her hands—a gold ring, with patterns of wyvern wings etched around its circumference. Guinivere’s eyes widen as she gazes upon the sight of her friend before her.

             “Lady Guinivere, Queen of Bern, though we share not blood nor title, if you will have me, I swear to stay by your side for the rest of my days—not as your knight, nor as your retainer, but as your partner for life, until the wyverns take to sea.”

* * *

           “Your Majesty?” Count Retonkchïme calls as he rounds the corner through the archway into the fountain clearing. As he does, he is met with the sight of the Queen sharing a lover’s kiss with the shocked yet giddy Duchess of Bern, and immediately ducks behind the hedges at the archway, not intending to spy, but having done so all the same. With the realization of what he just witnessed swimming in his mind, he chuckles amusedly and shakes his head as he walks back towards the entrance of the gardens.

             Father certainly wouldn’t be getting his wish of his son marrying into the royal family now, but likely not for the reason he'd think...


End file.
